Out Past the Edge
by Nick the Priest
Summary: Grudge is a dwarf, and barrens mage who brings whole new meanings to uncouth. He has lived a horribly scarred life, this being one of just another nightmares he's to dead inside to have later. It is not family friendly in the slightest. This takes place in the Redmond Barrens, the worst part of the Seattle Sprawl, just after the Ork Underground was voted in as an official district.


p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"Leash was a troll. That's an important piece of information because it really puts everything else in perspective. For instance when I say "Leash stood in the middle of the street and raped the guy to death" it gives the image a whole new twist when you find out he's a troll. By the by, that's exactly what he did. I watched the whole thing happen./span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"Leash stood there, shirtless, big troll dick sticking out through his street leathers; arms almost bursting the seams of his jean jacket, Thrillers rockers center stage of the back, and moniker taking ad space on the front. 6'8" or my beards a stick on, and the kind of dreads that are earned through a life where soap was so far removed that it wouldn't be used even were it available. It'd be traded for food, or bullets, so as to not become food yourself. I'd say he was Mexican, but I've always had a harder time spottin' the momma marks of trolls and orcs; all that tusk and ugly make slant eyes look like round eyes, and vice versa. Not that they all look alike mind you; I'm not spoutin' that racist garbage. I'll leave that to the leaf eaters and the norms. They just all look like tuskers is what I'm saying. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"Anyway, Leash is standing there, holding either end of a chain, wrapped ever so artfully around the neck of this slag from the latest invader gang of the week. I think they were called NightFury, or NightAngry, or fucking-sleepy-time-mad-guys. At this point they should be called "warned appropriately" and that's the last we should hear of 'em. That's what this foray into street violence and troll-on-man rape was all about. A vicious warning to fucking beat all warnings that Thriller territory was not to be fucked with. Troll dick in choked to death man ass sends just such a message. In his defense, Leash did not look to be enjoying it. I happen to know that he popped a few too many pecker pills before this to make sure the message could be delivered. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"The other mugs here were all in the gang. Two more trolls, an orc, three humans(the most vicious of which was some bull dyke named Flower; misnomer of the century if you ask me), and something that looked like a troll but was black and covered in fur. I called him Snuggles, he called me asshole. We're not pals. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"Scattered about the mean streets of this barrens bastion were the four other ex-NightTantrums in various representation of curb stomp and lightning blast (courtesy of me). They'd be taken right to the edge of the claim and elegantly posed with an ARO recording of Leash's star performance. Hopefully this would do the job./span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"For what it's worth, it didn't start this way. At first new faces amid the sea of the down and out started appearing. No big deal. As long as someone is willing to bow down to the right evil master, and fight for their squat, they can typically find a place to call hole sweet hole out here. A few faces turned into families, and the scraps we could fight for got a bit more sparse. Families turned into associations, and the fights got more vicious. Associations turned into gangs, and the vicious got way less polite. Gangs pushed three feet out past the edge didn't take no for an answer and rude viciousness turned into horror freak show. And the new faces kept coming. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"Word eventually came out that they were driving right out from the tusker tunnels underneath all the livable parts of the Plex, though why this cornucopia of not a god damned thing looked appealing I'll never know. Nonetheless, now I've got to watch a troll stay focused and try and fuck a corpse to completion. Lucky me. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"Craptastic part of all this is that I'm not even in this gang. I'm not in any gang matter of fact, although if you dig underneath the dirt and the scars there's ink aplenty from an old life. No, I'm hired muscle, bought in trade, and brought for show. My squat, be it ever so humble, lies in Thriller turf, so in exchange for a stay off my shit pass, a don't try and mug me pass, and a be a good neighbor while I'm away badge, I play waggly fingers for the Thrillers every once in awhile. I earn their fear and respect, which are basically the same thing, and typically get at least a half hour of the face time with the LIC, Lacy, a smoking hot carpet muncher who fights so mean it makes me want to disappoint her more than once in the sack. Eventually I'll cross the line with her and she'll shoot me. It won't kill me, but I'll bleed my blood all over the place and fry her brain pan with Uncle Ben's favorite kite burner. One less fantasy vag and at least one more scar. Not lookin forward to those prizes. You'd think I'd stop pushing her…/span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"Leash wrapped up, or unwrapped, however you want to torture yourself visually, and the rest of the muscle loaded up the meat sacks into an old wheelbarrow and rolled out to the edge of the kingdom. Props set, picture show running, we were done. As we walked away the two legged vultures were starting to creep out scrambling for blood covered scraps. By this time tomorrow all that would be left were stains in the potholes and the last snuff porn you'd ever want to watch. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"The walk back to HQ was filled with the normal banter and small talk attributed to meat heads and muscle. It was a sham though. Lifeless tripe poorly attempting to distract from the fact that this level of aggression usually reserved for long overdue dustups and birthday parties were becoming all too common. Murder was becoming the only negotiating tactic left, and sucking away quickly at what vestiges of humanity were left. I don't spook easy but even I was startin to get worried. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"I broke from the pack and headed off to this dwarfs favorite pooping spot, my lot. Used to be a automotive repair shop, mostly still says so right on the sign. This was back before the fall mind you. All that remains of the business is four walls, most of a ceiling, a toilet that magically still flushes if you add water, and a fenced in parking lot of unsalvageable rust heaps long stripped of anything worth taking. Most people around here call it Grudge's squat, but I just called it home. I walked right up to the entranceway I had made by shoving old rust buckets together at odd angles, effectively making the worst slumlord castle ever imagined. I hardened my will and sent a long lonely whistle off from my mind to the place no manling walks, and waited for the familiar tug of war between Mamma Jambo and yours truly. Like fishing, the line went taught, the hook set, and the battle began. Faster than you could blink thrice I used my astral hard head to beat her into submission and the sound of a hundred winds buffeted my ears and died to a slow ragged whisper of breeze through the brush. She was here. "Three I owe you. Three too many. Three to command" she wheezed./span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"You'd think the voice of wind would be soft and gentle, sultry sweet. I don't hear the wind though. I don't hear breeze or gale. I hear what the wind blows. Far off echoes, battered soda can, whipped and broken umbrellas; these are the pieces of sound that old momma wind clashes together as a voice. Damn peculiar. Disconcerting even, but since it's more thoughts than sound we manage to comprende' each other just fine./span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"She's still kind of a bitch though. She's like a stuck up housewife who you've blackmailed for sex. Your peckers getting wet, and somebody's getting a poor man's salt bath, but she's never ever going to pretend this is mutual fun. Fine by me though, I'm not here for the romance. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;""Oh Momma Jambo, how sweet you are to aid me. Scout my ranch and tell me who else is here."/span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"If a wind spirit had eyes, well, and a face even, the old bitch would have given me the most deadpan stare of trifling regret before fading into the astral to follow my commands. Moments passed before clothing flapping on the dry line, and the clatter of a loose weather vane came back with the all clear. "Two I owe you. Two too many. Two to Command" she whistled./span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"She's nothing if not consistent. "Oh Momma, you treat me too well. Lets call it square and you can zip off back to cloud city and enjoy the rest of your night. I'd hate for dinner to get cold."/span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"She felt the mental release well before my talking to ghosts routine was over and the line was snapped before I finished. I finished though. My daddy didn't raise no quitter. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"I moved through the gate type thing into my front garden. It's where I grow all my best weeds. I did my own look around to see what may have visited while away, but didn't catch anything that was noticeable. I pushed an old car hood back to check on my dirt bike. Seeing all the tires in the right place I let the lean to fall back into place and went and grabbed an outside temperature beer from the trunk-erator that held my dwindling stash of foodstuffs. Nice thing about a junkyard, you can hide your worldly possessions all over the place and unless someone's lucky or bored for days, they're never going to find everything. I grabbed a can of pull-n-heat soup out of the trunk and locked it back up. I had a gear head come out and install real working locks on half a dozen trunks on the lot. He disguised them to look like old rusted shut trunks with a heavy dose of spray on rust and gen-u-ine oil polluted dirt to make it look legit. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"I sat on an old car seat, and threw my feet up on the stack of tires that makes my footstool and commenced to pullin, heatin, and chewin. While I was sucking down dinner and washin away the throat crispies I mentally queued up my messages, mails, and notifications. Six lonely messages had traversed the matrix all the way out here to the barrens. Two spam messages. One from an old team mate who I stopped working with under less than auspicious circumstances checking to see if I had lost all sense of reason and wanted to team back up. A thank you note from Lacy for a job well done; what a polite and ruthless bitch. A message from one of my few contacts, Oily Ray asking if was available for work. A message from Iron Tusk asking when I was coming back off hiatus. The first three I filed in my dumpster icon. Lacy's message went into the spank folder, cause she only sends me video messages with visible cleavage. It's her not so subtle reminder that in this shit pile a fine set of titties competes just fine with the oh so rare gift of magic. I consider her video's community service. She just knows they guarantee I'll always check her messages first. It's a fair trade./span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"I sat and reread Tusk's message a few more times. I needed to work. Not just for the money. I was actually more flush in nuyen now than I had been in years, but that was exactly why. I was no newb to the life of a runner. I've eeked out a living as a mean little bastard for hire for too long to be considered green in any circle. I needed to work for other reasons though. One, it's what I do. The job gets in you. It's the worst kind of drug and after a while the doldrum of inactivity makes you paranoid. The longer I go without work the more I feel the target on my back. We don't run the shadows, we run from the past. Sooner or later it would catch up. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"The other reason I needed to run was this new team was working well. We were starting to get a rep and for whatever reason people thought hiring runners called "The Wrecking Crew" was a top notch fucking power play. We got the jobs done, no one was a total fuck up, and no one had died, which was `HUGE`. Also the sun wouldn't shine forever. I've seen good teams go bad before and sooner or later it was bound to happen again. More solid steady work now meant a softer cushion to land on when drek hit the wiper blades. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"Plus there was the business this morning. Maybe after all these years the barrens wasn't safe anymore. I snorted at the thought and fucking soup went out the nostril. How fucked up was my life when the barrens was my definition of safe, and death by troll rape constituted putting new locks on your front door. I mentally keyed the call button. Seconds later his tusker visage popped up on my link display. /span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;""Sup Grudge? Been a minute. Got work if you're interested."/span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Arial; color: #1d2129; background-color: #ffffff; font-weight: 400; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;""You bet your warty tusker sack I am. the cold wind's a blowin and shits only going to get worse. I got to get the fuck out of here."/span/p  
p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"Words and more words. Electronic details. End of call. I sucked down the last of my suds and tossed the bottle into a familiar pile. I pulled ranger rick out from his lean too, fired him up and drove off toward the plex. Maybe tonight Tusk will let me crash on his couch. I could really use the vacation/p 


End file.
